The moon need not apologize for phases,
No sense of guilt even abstract assume --
It’s the human heart alone that falsely
Translates, shades and uncovers wrongly.
Seas can bear witness, 3rd eye peering
Through filtered wave. The pond alike
Shallow, no retractions necessary for glossing
Over depths.
We should Not look too closely
At one another, for often the surface is no
Cover-up but what simply rises to the
Top, given Time the Universal purifier.
Broomstick Beryl
On Halloween night she was
in a very sour mood because
she had to pick up rubbish,
pick up lots of rubbish.
She had to pick (five bags per
hour) up rubbish from the grass glossing
of Elmwood Botanic Park for doing 110 km per hour through a children’s crossing.
As she angrily sorted rubbish green and blue,
her spindly sweat-stained stomach (way too bamboo-lean) roared for candy too,
and for cinnamon mummy biscuits too.
An assemblage of stones and grass
poses to reveal a canopy of clouds
trailing like petioles of luster beneath
my head, air-stroked by eve's approach.
I feel the hours passing wretchedly unhurried
as nimbus fog breathes of radiance,
not partly dim but like a tiara
warmly shimmering, glossing over its cape
in daring pink...transforming in a blink;
flare of haze bursting in the air.
Wondering if I should turn away from this dazzling
spectacle of colored skyfoam ,
I watch my body writhe in disgust, this soul raked
with discontent where the burden of beauty grates this skin :
Till cloudscape evanesces, reminding me of past anger
unfinished --which mirrors my autumnal haze,
lingering ... still.
A man was born to dignify
Deserving every piece of respect
For the fantabulous of intelligences
For the bright shine of mindsets
Of the pure and sharp eyesight
And of the facile and sturdy hands
Finely handles with delicacies
While the decency of the manners
Bestowed its glamourous graces
Of these evidence for the grades
Of its freedom and dominance
To be owned by a respectable man
No third parties could obstructing
Nor the contrived defer his shining
Of its presence as a master of men
With rights legitimated by nature
Rather, by artificially made with power
Into a headless minion of followers
Harvesting the man-made bumptious
Though, may success for glossing face
But deemed meaningless in a man's eyes
EVERY TUNIC’S TUCKED
squeamish that every tunic’s tucked
on one side, lopsided, uncouth
on the page, in the book - why is
every model told to tuck her hand
inside her pocket, jam her socket
into her pants, plunge me into distress.
If they want us to buy online, can’t
we size it up ourselves. I laugh
like crazy…going crazy…the lazy
love to push buttons and tuck.
well i’m out of luck, looking through
glaring pages, glossing over, needled.
insensitive to my plight? perhaps
you have your own quirk. don’t
laugh behind my back…hit me
on the chin. just don’t tuck your tunic
with your hand in one pocket. i panic
at the unprofessional modelling. i turn
away, i scorn, i feel sick. the lazy
like to set up every one the same.
their camera should be ashamed…
how lame. let me speak…let me shout.
i was kidding about the chin -
keep it to yourself…
you can count on time
glossing over the bitterness
of deception
AP: 3rd place 2022
I.
Ode the thrill of a tango
curled in clutches sleek
Elegance, a prerequisite
Add on a spun euphoria
Nimble is a turgid swoon!
Arms conduct to the aria
New skin, feels no tocsin
It's deeply in a you and i
Glazed, to the tightening
and a strangling organza
Necked into a suffocation
So go the tunnel deaths…
(1/27/2021: '02 Silverton MY; Alameda ...contest theme was murder in the tunnel)
II.
Ornately, I gild over my days a’ la fresco
Carefully, I wield molten gold, enigmatic
Elaborate must these life undulations be
as metallic sheen screens all insipid aura
New cantankerous crack? Just weld upon
and smooth the jagged with flowing flora
Now the feckless plaster sparkles golden
I spurn mawkish, like the silvered literati
glossing my craven, to caverns gleaming
Aurum weaves, in its narcissistic miasma
Nothing malodorous in self-love / loathin’
So imperious my bombastic art, it glazes!
(8.17.21 Redone at Willow Berm and DBW; theme was Craig’s Broken contest relating to Kintsugi)
I fought one piggish Titan and I won
As if that devious Leech existed not;
Sealing the very firy nose of his gun
With ball-like rags to sap every shot.
A long-lionized mogul of giant name
Slew my low fists by a magic stroke;
Vilest Judas glossing in pesty fame,
I his two-timing fang spookily broke.
I know not if such a scheming villain
Fickle arms dim for want of glut gain,
Ever shall by Time's rare marvel floor,
And ink selfsame serendipities more.
May the Highest Star your ochre clip,
And pelt plagues and fates your ship;
Until Hades her filthiest minion finds
Sulfurous frying betwixt fallen minds.
May your fiendish bow of foxy veneer
Snap mid-hunt as looms hugest deer,
And life's fave tooth turn fatal sore;
Your daintiest morsel tartest grow!
ALMOST everyone was told, "Seeing is Believing"
BELIEVING is A way to start seeing "If you've seen me, you've seen GOD"
CHRIST may be more UNIVERSAL than one gets by glossing over His Words
Spiraling, spinning out of control.
Can't you tell that it's taking a toll.
Stabbing, burning, constant pain.
Sub-par eyes glossing over again.
Today's the day to finally release;
To let go, to slip into glorious peace.
Eyes hazing, head rolling, going to sleep.
Fog thickens, head spinning; won't somebody weep.
Look up as she dies, bright skies turning gray.
No one would save her, goodbye sunny days.
O vibrant and rich January
Velvet sweet, warming the icy vine;
Her crystalline - garnet evening, bright...
Red orioles, whose lilting chorus
The snowflakes, in tinsel greet: And moon
knowing a gown's ONE STONE designs
To adorn the night!... her Capricorn
Jewel spills depicting vitality on flight,
Glossing roses on meadows awakened
From Winter's chilled poses. These restless
burst and fragrant sighs make her throttle
In joy-- bold maiden of new dawn's sky
Brian's Select 3 Contest
Red, the colour covers my arms
Deep within are glass shards
Show me no mercy and send no regards
Don't stitch me up and cover my scars
Cut my lips, tell them I'm smiling
Every day, I keep on lying
Dishonesty quickly gets very tiring
I'm slowly rotting, slowly expiring
If anybody actually cared
Would I really be pulling my hair?
Would I really be cutting my skin?
Pulling my tendons like puppet strings?
Would my heart really miss him?
As I try to pour out all my sins
If sins were black, all would be darkness
An evil void, lonely and heartless
Choking on sadness and blinded by madness
Isolated vastness, I am feeling anxious
Razors are paintbrushes, skin is my canvas
If it's not depression, then it is malice
Before I lay in my coffin
You see my blood glossing
My eyes water as I see you panic
And my existence slowly vanish
I observe my bleeding wrists
Moving towards the sleeping mist
On bloody notes, I weakly reminisce
Wondering of my needing to exist
My skin is burning but it is not incinerated
My vision is blurry, my mind is intoxicated
My body is hollow, neatly eviscerated
I choke on rose petals, I am suffocating
Gliding on moonlit waves
Gold filters through row boat,
Gondola twirls…it’s song
Gently romancing hours .
Guitar plays lovers’ dream,
Gay the breaths of passion
Glossing canoe’s night sail !
Pleiades G : Kim Merryman
12`01`2016
checked at www.howmanysyllables .com
and Webster's dictionary
We wanted you to be our friend
Demanding favors, wanted you to
Join us
We try so hard to make you dead
Don't worry- pain is kind of pleasure
Child
We're here
That's all we really are
We're broken
You're broken too
Memories
They're all in your head
The past is here to take you back!
Warming memories you lack
Memory has just been rotten
Sweet old times all now forgotten
Mindless scream misunderstanding
Porcelain dolls are still demanding
Can't believe that you're still standing
Cat, dear child please come closer
Our soulless eyes are glossing over
Porcelain skin, cracking quickly
Your tiny frame, trembling meekly
How now, you're looking sickly
Happiness will last forever
We will always be together
Oh dear Cat there is no fear now
You have seen us somewhere, somehow
Guess you broke your final vow
Finally your small mind recalls
Us two red suited porcelain dolls.
Hey Cat, do you remember us yet?
Last lines of each stanza: Join us. Child. You're broken too. Warming memories you lack. Can't believe that you're still standing. How now, you're looking sickly. Guess you broke your final vow.
Sometime, in July's budding charm
when the harvest of earth's clay affirms
that which exposes a content heart,
I remember a glimpse of rare delight
accepting the slow exposure of one morn
when daylight warms Grandpa’s hands
soaked in earthy glow on his farmland.
A rumbling wind turns amiable,
as bamboo drifts along lush curls
glossing the husk of our fond whispers,
oh, it is as simple as that:
his gaiety becomes an answered prayer
tasting the bliss of simple favors
bestowed by a yield of cornfields
reflecting the thrill of labor harnessed.
In a flash, I watch Gramps' hat flying
like a kite across a wispy sky,
my innocence releases a laughter’s dance
playful and blithe at age seven,
while he, born from fruits of life
ripens still, on his golden year with ease.
Rob Carmack's Golden Days
4/3/2015
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